Now what?

It's only a couple of days since I got back from a weekend's madcap mountainbiking in Ottawa. I should still be brimming. Yet this morning I woke on the brink of tears and have been that way ever since.

I feel like I hate my life.

Today's the day I sign the divorce agreement, and have the appointment set with my lawyer circa 95 minutes from now. I slept the entire day yesterday - hitting the sack sometime very early Tuesday morning and not surfacing again until a few hours ago.

Such a momentus documents force mental stocktaking of one's life, and I don't like what I see. A degree. Whoop dee doo. Romance and relationship-wise my life thus far has been a gong show. I'm 38 and own no property, living in a country that refuses to employ me in even the most menial of duties. I have no money to speak of, no drive, and no plan for what to do next. I hate where I live but I'm stuck here.

Nothing to do but buy lottery tickets and hope for the best. Welcome to my world.

She's just not that into you

Well, the bike ride worked in terms of improving my temperament although I did have to stop a couple of times mid-ride. A combination of taking my meds without enough breakfast and over-exerting myself brought the likelihood of me puking all over my handlebars close a couple of times.

I only did a short loop as a result (see picture right), although if I'm honest with myself there were other factors at play too.

Indeed, to be blunt, one of the spin-off benefits of riding the full loop that takes in the whole Don Valley as far South as it can be ridden, or riding Leslie Spit, is the route it causes me to take home. I have to ride down the Beaches from Woodbine Avenue to Beech Avenue. In effect, this means that there is a slim chance (think national lottery) that I might see the invisible woman because she lives near there.

Today I was in such a grotty mood that I elected not to run the risk of running into her, although the near-puking was real.

There was one occasion this year when I thought I'd spotted her, sat wistfully on a park bench by the boardwalk. I even braked and looped back so I could take a closer look. But, the fact that I felt more than a little awkward about the idea, combined with the fact that I couldn't be sure it was her, meant that in the end I didn't approach her.

I may regret that for a very long time indeed. Maybe the rest of my life.

Anyway, the reason I bring her up as a topic of discussion is because I've realised that I've never really explained what all the fuss is about. This won't be an expose mind you. I'm not about to blurt out her intimate details in the same way I would my own. However, I do need to say something because people seem so astonished as to why I've been so taken with her.

Peoples' reactions have ranged from the perplexed to the frustrated. Some people have said they want to physically shake me. Others have rolled their eyes, and others again have seemed genuinely worried by the inexplicable effect she's had on me all this time. As ever though, I am working hard to understand the sentiment behind what people say and do rather than the actualities, and thus I realise that all the reactions are coming from a similar place of concern for my well-being. I don't have a poker face, lie badly, and blush easily about certain topics. Similarly, it's pretty easy to see when I'm severely upset about something - it's written all over my face. So, in group in particular, during recent months I've refrained from mentioning how much she's been on my mind because I know the kind of reaction it will invoke. Secretly, I even fear that if I mention her once more to my shrink, she'll burst out of her chair one session and grab me by the lapels to the rhetoric, "Get a grip on yourself man! She's not real!"

That would be bad shrinkage though, I'm sure. And my shrink's top notch. Good job really, she needs to be with me *smiles*

So how did I manage to get in so deep?

Explaining this requires some suspension of disbelief on your part, dear reader. For now, let's assume that everything she told me was true...ish. Only today I was explaining how physically attractive I found her and I got the, "How do you know it's really her though? Those pictures could be of anybody." response. Forget all that for a moment though.

Let's break this down the obvious way. Physically, she's totally my type. Brunette, slim, and very attractive, with mischievous eyes, high cheekbones, and eminently kissable lips. She has an incredibly cute bum too, which isn't important to every guy on the planet but it is to me. This is going on photographs only obviously - I can't tell how she moves or holds herself but I don't think it really matters because of everything else. As a couple I'd be the wider and taller one, thus giving me the necessary 'y' chromosome feeling of being the (relatively) manly rugged one, and her the 'x' chromosome need to feel protected, the smaller 'spoon' of the two if you will.

It wasn't the looks that hooked me though.

It's a bit misty in the memory but I believe it was a while before I saw a photo of her. And even when I did, the first image was pretty poor quality. More photos came later on. What came almost instantly was the rapport. The jokes I'd written into my profile page (we met on a dating website) made her laugh. Her profile made me laugh too. Even in the first two or three e-mails we exchanged I could feel a growing sense of attraction. It wasn't even as simplistic as 'having lots in common'. We did have some things in common, but they were the important things. We saw eye-to-eye on money & finances, parenting, religion, family affairs - all the big topics that are the usual stumbling blocks for a relationship. Indeed, I purposefully sought out more and more 'controversial' things top discuss with her as a means to test the boundaries of the relationship. In the end, I just ran out. I couldn't think of any more. Yet every response either of us gave seemed to draw us closer together. There were many, many times when we finished each other's sentences or it became apparent we were thinking exactly the same way. I did try keeping track of them for a while. I called them 'spooky factors' when, for example, we'd be discussing a topic previously unbroached and would say the same thing. I lost count after a dozen, but they were coming at a rate of two or three per day.

We are/were open-minded in similar ways too. Again, some of the things we discussed wouldn't be on the table until after two or three dates yet with this particular situation we got a great deal of that into the open from the get-go. It's important, because finding out such things only after a few dates can make those dates a waste of time if it turns out there's disagreement on something fundamental. Frankly, by this time I couldn't get too much of her and it seemed to be reciprocated. I had to change my mobile phone plan to accommodate the hundreds of text messages we were exchanging, and became reluctant to stray too far from my computer in case she was online or had e-mailed.

This will no doubt seem peculiar, but it wasn't long before we'd pretty much mapped out the rest of our lives together and, at the time, she was living hundreds of miles away so the fact that we hadn't met didn't seem peculiar. We even questioned it ourselves, but concluded that if we were both mad, we were mad in the same way.

From my point of view I had reached the point where meeting was almost just a formality. It would have taken something monstrous to even dent the feelings I had by then, and I was 99% sure we were both going to like what we saw.

To answer the big "why" or should I say "how" question though, from my point of view I'd never been so blunt or so honest before about what I wanted from a relationship. Separating from Nicole and the navel-gazing that went with it had caused me to decide that this was the way I would handle all such relationships from then on i.e. be frank about who you are and what you want. Despite this, and being one of the rudest people I know, I just couldn't seem to put her off. And I did try. I half-expected to get the phone slammed down on me sooner or later but, because we were so akin, it just made everything seem so much more secure. She wanted the same things out of life as me, and we had some pretty candid conversations about having children and living arrangements. It was exactly as I'd hoped it would be - I'd hand-picked this woman because of her self-stated bluntness, and as a result I felt that (a) I could be my true self the whole time, and (b) the more I did so, the more attracted to me she seemed to become. It worked the other way too. There was no bullshit either. We both asked tough questions and got straight answers, so we circumnavigated all the usual soppy rom-com drama of calling after three days, pretending not to like when you really do, etc etc.

In short, I can't think of a better word to describe the life I could foresee with this woman than idyllic.

I got to a point where I knew I was in danger of falling for her, and that's when I first started to really press for a date. I didn't want to feel the way I did about someone I'd never met. The first couple of times it was supposed to happen, but didn't, could easily be put down to mishaps, double-bookings, crossed wires, whatever you want to call it. However, we reached a point when the relationship suddenly started to feel unbalanced. The things we'd discussed and agreed upon were the kinds of topics couples don't normally get into for months, yet we still hadn't met.

In time it became apparent why she was reluctant to meet. I don't mean to be deliberately mysterious when I say that when I found out, I totally understood. And no, it wasn't anything as sinister as her actually being a guy, being involved in some kind of elaborate online dating con, or simply pretending to be someone she wasn't. I won't tell you what it was though, because that isn't fair to her.

Suffice to say that it wasn't anything that couldn't be easily dealt with as far as I was concerned. It was a surprise to find out, and a disappointment to me that she'd felt she couldn't tell me the truth about this particular thing, but I could understand why she wouldn't want to. As far as I was concerned it was now out in the open, wasn't a big deal, and that was that.

I digress though. The point is that we'd both thrown at each other our worst possible characteristics or reasons for pulling the rip-cord, and yet we were both still there.

This doesn't happen often. I'm pretty sure some people die having never had this happen. I've learned about relationships through bitter, painful experience. Even when I haven't known exactly what I want, by now I've done it wrong so many times that I have a pretty firm grip on what I don't want, and can figure the rest out by elimination. Imagine finding someone like that who puts a tick in all the boxes and seems to like you just as much if not more so. And they make you laugh. And they turn you on. And they bring out aspects of your personality that nobody else does, aspects that you like and wished you'd see more often.

I know I'm not doing this justice, but then I'm having to tiptoe around things like confidentiality and tact here. That doesn't come naturally to me. Suffice to say, the staggering potential of this relationship was the most positive, fun, aspirational thing in my life at the time. It felt as if we'd already done all the hard stuff, and could spend the rest of our lives just relishing.

So be patient with me when I promise not to mention her again, and then do so. And then do so again. And again. I can't help it. I'd be with her if I could. Feelings this strong, this positive, this fan-fucking-tastic to actually feel on a daily basis do not come without their price. I know that even I cannot be sure whether it would have worked because one never knows how two people are going to get on with each other until they do meet.

But we never did, and thus I can never know for sure. It haunts me now, and it feels as if it will continue to do so for some time yet.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

And now...

...I'm just plain angry again. You gotta love a good moodswing.

Oh well, if I'm angry then at least I might get something productive done today. Anger doesn't make me much fun to be around, but it is one form of motivation at least. I'm currently of the feeling that I don't like my life and want to know where I can present my receipt in order to exchange this clusterf**k for the one I was supposed to be living all along.

Moods like this are usually (and currently) interlaced with one of my core issues/triggers, namely injustice. Whenever I feel I've been treated badly, whether physically, verbally, or some other way, it instigates a trigger response that makes me defiant, argumentative, idealistic, and vehemently conscientious. It doesn't always have to be me either.

It's the symptom that usually gets me into trouble at work. It's the reason I went head-to-head with the MD at DDB PR after watching her reduce her team to tears. Often it occurs when I'm asked to do something I know is wrong, or that compromises my own personal beliefs, morals, standards, ethics, whatever you want to call them. If you ever needed an explanation of why I'm trying to get from public relations into writing, then this is it. I don't like to leave the office feeling dirty, sullied, or like I've compromised myself.

Gosh, how terribly high-maintenance of me.

I think I need nicotine and a bike ride.

Yuk

I feel terrible today.

Thursday night ended up being an impromptu whirlwind through the bars of West Toronto. I even pulled, so I should be happy. But, in reality I just have another new name and number saved to my mobile phone that I'll probably never call. I still cannot get away from using the invisible woman as the gold standard when it comes to judging how well suited to me other women are. It's stupid really, when you consider that the same gold standard isn't even real - how can I compare anyone to someone I've never met? To a standard that doesn't exist except in cyberspace?

It now feels like a curse that I'm sick of. So I've e-mailed the invisible woman to say that I can understand why she's unable to meet, but cannot understand why she's unable to communicate. I doubt I'll get a reply given that I've received nothing from her in a month. No reply, no explanation, no closure other than whatever I can find of my own volition. I naively thought that as she was 35 and I 38, that all the usual dating bullshit - the waiting before calling, the deliberate suppression of true feelings, the playing of games would be things long behind us. I was wrong. I'm now just left with the feeling that internet dating is a jip, that I should trust no-one I don't know intimately, and rely on no-one other than myself.

And now I have to find a way to climb out of the hole I'm in. I'm out of food, behind with the washing, behind with the washing-up, and haven't looked for a job all week. I haven't showered or brushed my teeth in a couple of days. I'm in the same place I was in this January, and it is only when I'm considering giving up on her that I realise I have - to a certain extent - been putting other aspects of my life on hold because of the promises made to me months ago. I've been held back, physically and emotionally.

It's unbelievable to think that I should be enduring such a scenario. If it were possible to draft up a 'relationship' experience that would do me the most harm emotionally and mentally then it wouldn't be too far from this. All I need now is to be riding home one day and catch sight of her with another man - just for that final nail in the coffin. As the piece de la resistance perhaps she could be laughing too. Maybe she and he could both point at me and laugh as I ride by, trying desperately to pretend I hadn't noticed them.

Yuk.

I don't believe in karma but if I did, right now I'd be wondering what the hell it was that I did to somebody or other to bring this upon myself. That's a bad road to go down though - one tends to blame oneself for everything when on the brink of depression, and conclude that everything must be of my own doing, my own fault, my own just desserts. It's something I have to try my best to avoid, because it's a trap-door to a much deeper state of depression.

Well, I have to go achieve something, even if it's only getting dressed. I've already slept the entire morning. When I sign the divorce papers with Nicole in a few weeks then I will be truly, completely alone. And in order to cope with that, I need to be in a much stronger mental state. This isn't it.

Wish me luck.

My acquaintance and I

Some days depression feels like an invisible twin, who visits when you least expect it and when you're worst-equipped to deal with them. When they arrive, you feel that, "Oh no, not now" response. But they're persistent, and persuasive.

One morning after Nicole and I separated, I woke up in bed and let my bedroom come slowly into focus. Lashings of beech veneer said, "Ikea" all over the room, from the shelves to the curtains and finally where my eyes rested, on the bedclothes. I remembered feeling this way one morning in London, Elephant & Castle to be precise. I was 27 or 28 at the time, freshly graduated, embarking on my second career and living and working in one of the busiest capitals of the Western world.

I didn't have much to show for my life other than a long-winded route to university, and a moderately successful retail management career. But, I felt pretty contented. I was doing what I wanted to do (at the time), living where I wanted to live, and happy to concentrate on career progression as my main priority. I'd built some semblance of a life and, essentially, had the rest of that ahead of me. I even had disposable income.

Thus it wasn't a good feeling to wake up in similar surroundings, because I was ten years older. I'd added a successful if not meteoric decade-long PR career, but, I'd also added a failed relationship that had got as far as marriage. I was ten years older, but in terms of progress I'd gone backwards. I had ten years less to figure out whatever it was that I wanted to do in life, and do it.

I felt robbed, as if someone had sneaked in during the night and taken away a decade of my life. Jeez, I didn't even have anything tangible to show for it. Lots of experience but no home, no car, no finance to speak of, and no job. No leads on those things I wanted to achieve. Nothing.

On days like this, life feels like a game of snakes & ladders except there's only snakes left. So it's just a matter of time before your next snake arrives, hits the 'reset' button, and puts you right back where you started. Often it only sets you back days or weeks, but sometimes it's months or years. And that's how I felt, like I was at the foot of a giant snake that'd confiscated 3,650 days from me. Now I had to do it all again.

This is what my acquaintance reminds me of when they're here. That I'm ten years older, mortal, dying, and most of all running out of time. They suggest I may have already blown it, that it's probably all downhill from here, that somewhere in the past is the woman of my dreams and the life I've always wanted but I wasn't paying attention or didn't make my move. That I'll probably never father children...

..that all of us, but especially I, will die alone.

When life hands you lemons...throw them at people

I still have the "flux" feeling, it must be said. I feel I have many projects on-the-go but don't want to make a huge amount of mess to start something when I may have to pack up and move everything in the near future.

Mind you, one cannot live life on a "what if" scenario basis. With that in mind, I've decided to continue applying for other jobs while I'm waiting to hear on the one at the Mac store. It'll make the rejection easier to deal with if I am rejected....again...and means I won't have to wait so long to get some cash coming in even if that does happen. There's some work involved though - I need to tailor my resume to the kind of work I'm looking for right now, and all the sites where I have my resume posted will have to be checked and probably amended. At least I'm in much better shape financially since the bail-out from my parents (thanks again folks) but, once again, my credit card balance is starting to mount so I will have to use more cash to pay it down else I'll end up paying hundreds of dollars in interest. It's not quite how I wanted to use that money - I was hoping to get the job, find a home, and then cash everything in that I have (including my tax returns) to help pay for moving costs et al. However, as people in group keep telling me, one cannot control everything that happens, only one's reaction to it. In this case the job is taking longer than I would hope so I need to act accordingly. As ever, it sucks, but such is my lot in life it would appear.

Mentally though things seem to be going quite well. The cash/job situation is the biggest negative influence on my moods right now, although if I'm honest I must admit that thinking of the invisible woman still gets me down from time-to-time. It seems like such a pity, such a waste. Indeed, I still remember an excited MSN conversation we had from months ago when I stated the words, "It'll be a travesty if we don't meet, because we seem so well-matched". Again though, this is another situation entirely beyond my power to influence or control so until she decides it's time to restart communicating then I'm S.O.O.L.

I just hope that she does decide to start communicating again.

But the trend is still good. My weekly CD and GAD scores are still coming in below the average, which means I'm on a downward/positive cycle. It's just that f**king job that I need.

Gotta go - Wednesday is shrinkage day and I need to swap the wheels out on my bike so I can ride downtown.

How the rhino got its skin

So, for some reason I have awoken this morning with the feeling of Rudyard Kipling's rhinoceros.

I have that itchy, displaced, jittery feeling as though my entire life is in flux, and I suppose it is. On the job front I am still waiting to hear back from the Mac store where I interviewed nearly two weeks ago now. They requested references but the last I heard, none of them had been contacted. I've been back in touch with them since then to check whether there was anything else I could do to expedite things but apparently all I can do is wait. In the meantime I'm still regularly submitting stories for the womens' lifestyle website, and my work with the other careers-related annual magazine is done.

I haven't applied for anything else in the meantime because this job seems so close to being 'got' as it were. But, it's triggering my anxiety because it is so important to me.

All else seems to be log-jammed behind it at the moment. Consider that mentally at least, I've decided that the best thing for me is to live alone in my own place. Yet I cannot move until I know I've got something to cover the rent. Thus I cannot yet start on a moving 'project' that would comprise slowly extracting my belongings from the shared parts of the house to either my bedroom or to packed boxes awaiting removal. Equally, I feel I cannot start any major 'home' projects, such as reconciling my music collection and getting a mixing timetable going again, or installing "Final Scratch" so I can - for the first time - mix digital files as well as just vinyl.

Love-wise I'm sorry to report that the invisible woman still isn't either one half of a happy relationship, or forgotten. I haven't heard from her in a month now, and cannot understand why her possible illness seems to prohibit any kind of communication whatsoever. A friend of mine told me the other day that if a woman stops communicating, it's over. I confess I don't want to believe that because I'm still emotionally invested in her, because her track record with communication in general is patchy at best, and most importantly because a prior reply she sent basically said that a lack of communication did not denote a lack of interest.

My best guess is that she's stil convalescing, but it irks me that she can't just say that. After all, that's all I need to know. I wouldn't be surprised if she's feeling like she has too much on her plate right now to even be able to think about another person, or that her doctor has advised she concentrate on getting herself well before attempting anything new that would require emotional commitment. However, I don't know whether that's a correct assumption because I can't get her to confirm or correct it. Still, she haunts me though, and it's often when I'm working in the garage that I'll catch myself daydreaming that she's arrived unannounced and, as I look up from my dismantled bike, there she is, walking down the driveway towards me.

Do I ask too much?

Fitness-wise I'm still feeling pretty puny after my mandatory respite from riding or lifting weights. I've managed three rides now since the big rib-cracking crash, the latest one is in the image above. Whilst I haven't really tested myself on any severe trails or difficult obstacles, the will is still there. That said, my ribs do still ache when I wake in the mornings, and late in the evenings. Maybe I should get an X-ray done just in case, but that'd be a lot of hassle to potentially find out what I already know - that a couple of ribs were indeed cracked and that there's nothing the doc can do except recommend rest.

Still, I feel my life's feet are buried in quicksand. Everything has a temporary feel to it, and I cannot rid myself of the feeling that I am just treading water - not moving towards my goals, not progressing, not learning, not evolving. It's frustrating.

Not much else to say right now *sighs*

The rocky road to vanilla-dom

This week's line graph is brought to you in technicolour widescreen *smiles*

If nothing else, progress in mental health is now undeniable. There's a distinct downward trend in the severity of my symptoms evident over the last six weeks or so. In fact, my weekly scores are significantly below the average so, with time, eventually those two averages will get dragged downwards as well. I know what my shrink would say: "What do you attribute that to?" Well, my ribs have healed enough to have facilitated two off-road rides and a mammoth trip to the grocery store yesterday. That said, it's not so much the introduction of positive things having a beneficial impact on my life as it is the slow but deliberate elimination of those things from my life that bring me down. Such is the personality of a type six - one who seeks to constantly build and reinforce support structures and safety nets in every aspect of one's life.

Of course, because I still haven't heard about the job at the Mac store, all this could prove to be more than a little premature. I'm reticent to apply for other positions when it appears I'm so close to getting this one. This does, admittedly, leave me open to disappointment and more delays if this job doesn't come through. I'm so tired of jobhunting though. Every day, probably 50 per cent of the e-mails I receive that aren't work-related are from a job website - Media Jobs, Workopolis, Monster, Craig's List, the IABC, and others. All of them have to be trawled through, as well as a few others on my Google Reader that I get RSS feeds from, and it's very, very boring. Plus, I know that the whole Canadian job application process, or more specifically the ambiguity of it, is a trigger for my GAD so I won't miss it when it's finally gone. Then there's the fact that it's always on my mind...always. This isn't the nice new job you've applied for whilst you're still doing the old one, when the new job is a "nice to have" but not a necessity. The trouble with applying for jobs when you don't have one already is that it raises the importance of each and every one you go for. You don't want that job, you need it.

It's also counter-productive to my general health because just finding and getting a job is a task that's never complete. There is always another e-mail to read, always another site to review, always a new source that should be checked out. Hence whenever I think about doing anything that might be considered 'fun', the recurring thought I have concerns whether or not I actually deserve to be having fun. Am I up-to-date with e-mail? Have I poked around in every dark employment corner? Can I honestly say that I've tried everything I can? Additionally, every time I go to spend anything more than $20 on something, I have to ask myself, "Can I afford it? Do I really need to buy this right now or can it wait? Can I make it myself?"

This is why I cook all meals at home and cut my own hair. Not at the same time though.

It was interesting to hear a couple of mildly lubricated Queen's University (the 'Oxford' or 'Cambridge' of Canada) graduates complaining about jobhunting in Canada last night. By the way, on the homepage of the uni website it says, "Queen's is one of Canada's leading universities with an international reputation for scholarship, social purpose, spirit and diversity." Diversity huh? I guess that goes alongside the other idealistic principles of being a student, like the proposition that communism can somehow work on Earth even though it's populated by human beings, or that a stolen flashing yellow construction light is an essential addition to any student house.

Anyway, the grads' issue with the country was similar to mine (both of them have worked abroad for several years - London, Paris, and Zurich amongst other places I gather) in that this country seems a lot closer to nepotism than meritocracy. I'd heard a recent statistic that only one in ten jobs in Canada are being advertised. The rest are sourced through networks and people who know other people. And, apparently it's simply because of the excessive demand there is for each and every position at the moment. An advertised job that normally receives a dozen or so applicants is now getting 400+. However, this practice was concluded to be sheer laziness by the two grads, who also spoke of how one's home country is least relevant to an application in, say, the UK whereas it's everything when it comes to Canada. The UK was described as, relatively, being a champion of diversity and actively encouraging recruitment from an international labour pool. Canada meanwhile was described as intensely difficult to come back to after working abroad because many of the skills learned overseas were consistently and mercilessly discounted as being relevant prior job experience.

I suffered a similar fate when moving from Xerox into my first agency role here. I got the old, "Well, you do have lots of experience but little in Canada, so we won't be able to pay you as much." The irony was that only the media landscape was really that different. Clients, practices, methodology and creativity were all pretty much the same. In fact, in general, a great deal of the operational management of that agency had failed to evolve with the times.

My anxiety and self-confidence run in negative symbiosis with each other. However, even I was lead to the train of thought that, were I to open my own PR agency, even I could manage things like finances, operations, IT and HRM better than my boss at the time.

It seems that Canadians are their own worst enemy when it comes to recruitment. Here's a country that regularly talks of how it depends on immigrants, but it seems that they're only needed for the most menial of chores. Serving in Tim Horton's is OK, but earning a $50k+ salary when that job could've gone to a real home-grown Canadian simply won't do, eh? That said, it was fantastic to hear that 'real' Canadians - Queens grads no less - had as much of a bone to pick with Canada as I do.

It makes me wonder what it is about this country and its people that creates this insidious, hidden undercurrent of nepotistic xenophobia. Is it a result of decades of dual-citizenship so-called "Canadians" who actually live elsewhere on the planet for most of their lives, but conveniently return to the Great White North whenever there's signs of a war or coup d'etat in their country of residence? Perhaps it's that many people living in Canada are on their life's "second chance" so to speak, where they attempt to live their life 'the right way' and learn from their prior mistakes. Perhaps this makes them fiercely, if quietly, protective of their country and their status? Maybe it's just poor internal communication - like a nightclub manager spending a fortune on direct marketing to increase membership, only to be scuttled by over-zealous bouncers who stop all those new people from getting in the door. The Devil's Martini (nightclub) springs to mind, and in particular the occasion when a friend and I were trying to get into the VIP room (which we'd booked) for a stag night (that friend's younger brother) but were still refused entry at the door. Meanwhile I witnessed dozens of total strangers approach the bouncers, and offer them their hand for a handshake as a means to deliver a rolled up $20 note or two in order to bribe the bouncer for admittance.

Whatever it is, I don't like it. It's bad for me, bad for Canada, and just downright devolved. If the teachings of Belbin, de Bono, and even George Orwell have said anything at all it's that purposefully mixing people of differing skills and origins is the perfect way to create the ultimate team. Maybe this is why everyone who worked at Xerox seemed to look and dress the same: Dilbert clones all wearing the same ugly 'business casual' clothing, eating the same doughnuts, and drinking the same coffee, or should I say Kool-Ade.

These people should know that single-coloured shirts look best with a tie (otherwise they just look dull), pants are available in colours other than beige or navy blue, and shirts should never, ever be tucked into the waistband of jeans. EVER! Oh, and brown shoes do not go with black pants. I loathe the world of fashion yet even I know these basic principles of not dressing like a total nerd. Oh, and don't get me started on belt clips. Apparently anything bigger than a memory stick and smaller than a compact car comes with a mandatory device to attach it to one's belt. In 'business casual' world, which seems to be a dress code enforced with the sole purpose of keeping the likes of Gap in business, men saunter through the office with their BlackBerries belt-clipped low like a Colt 45 on a gunslinger. Sad but true.

Thank god I applied for a job at a Mac store. Now there's a company a million miles from beige, taupe, cream, or should I say more accurately, vanilla. Funny to think that if Canadian commerce thought more about the myriad of ice cream flavours and less about laissez faire then this country would probably be a happier place, and not just for me either.

Not all traces of glee are wiped out, apparently

A friend of mine in my group therapy group made an astute observation the other day. He'd been looking at my blog and, in particular, the line graph I use to monitor my progress.

He asked me why I only tracked the negative things, feelings, and moods I experience rather than the positive. He's got a point, and it had never occurred to me before, but I guess it is an arse-about face way of monitoring progress. Trouble is, one can scour online all day and never find a medical questionnaire that's been phrased that way around i.e. positively.

I have been thinking about it but I don't have it sussed yet. Should I record every moment when I actually feel something I haven't felt in a long time? Like joy? Glee? Ecstasy? Serenity? Security? How do I do that and how would I quantify them? What would I call them? "My happy moments," sounds too much like a euphemism for masturbation to me. Either that or it's perilously close to one of my favourite e-mail sign-offs, "Warm regards". To me, that sounds like the person sending the e-mail just urinated on the recipient.

Warm regards indeed. I once gave my Grandma warm regards on holiday in Majorca when I was about nine or ten years old. I'd been whining for two things on that holiday - first to play mini-golf, and second to go out in the Mediterranean on a pedalo. When the opportunity eventually came to take the boat out i.e. when my parents and grandparents could stand the nagging no more, I coincidentally needed to pee. However, I was so afeared that if I said I had to go to the toilet first my long-awaited opportunity would be taken away from me. So I kept my mouth shut.

Ten minutes later my Grandma made the same noise a donkey probably would if you inserted a freshly boiled potato up its bum. I can even remember what she said, as her voice slowly pitched upwards: "Ooooooh! It's all warm!"

It probably was too, given that I'd just peed right into the back of the plastic seat she was sitting in. I think my Mum (in the other pedalo seat, but not pee'd on) said, "Why didn't you just jump in the sea?"

I still don't know the answer to that question.

Anyway, neither pedalos nor incontinence have anything to do with the legendary Playstation game, "Wipeout". 'Twas this that led to the first gleeful moment I can remember in a long, long time. The nice chap who lives next-door brought his PS2 over and set it up in the garage, so we have a nice little lads' den in there now. And then he left it there, which is pretty darn cool if you ask me. The gleeful moment actually came when I was playing the game though. It sounds infantile I know, but if you've ever been perpetually beaten into submission by a video game, and then you pull out an amazing if not enchanted flying lap (circa 1,000mph), obliterating the competition with missiles, photon cannons and allsorts as you go, then a genuine 'whoop' is often heard, if not eminently appropriate.

It's good I noticed it though. I nearly dropped the controller just so I could immediately blog about it. I even mentioned it in the following group therapy. "Hey! I have something to talk about this week! I felt GLEE...WOO HOO!"

It's kinda sad that one solitary moment of glee sticks out so. But let's face it, there hasn't been much glee in the last year, so as I said to my esteemed acquaintances in group therapy, "I'll take glee wherever I can get it, no matter how trivial it might seem to other people."

So if you're ceatively-minded or a whiz with MS Excel, then feel free to comment either on how I might record such instances, or what I might call them. In the meantime I'll try to look forward to my second gleeful feeling this year.